


The Writing On The Wall

by Thorntangle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Exploring Lexa's relationship with Titus and The Nightbloods, F/F, I also have a lot of thoughts about the Grounder religion/belief system, I have a lot of Clexa thoughts, Lexa Lives, Lots of thoughts about Anya and Lexa's mentor/sekon relationship and friendship, Non-Canonical Character Death, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-21 17:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9559991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorntangle/pseuds/Thorntangle
Summary: “So from his presence the hand was sent and this writing was inscribed." Daniel 5:24The message is clear, the Flamekeepers have read the writing on the wall. Commander Lexa's days are numbered, she has been weighed and found wanting. She stands to lose both her Coalition and the throne of Heda if she cannot humble herself.The Beast from the sea, the false prophet, is gaining followers. The Beast from the Earth is numbering the people. The Dragon has aligned with the two creatures against Heda, and only one person can cast the creatures into the lake of fire.Armageddon is rapidly approaching, and even though Commander Lexa has won numerous battles, she could still lose the war.





	1. Preface: How Anya Met Lexa

**Author's Note:**

> Canon divergence from 1x02
> 
> Timeline change; story is set 666 years after the fall of the nuclear bombs and explosions of all the nuclear reactors.

This close to the Azgeda border the winter wind was less a force of nature and more a tangible beast. It howled as it tore through the sparse bone white trees along the woods edge, tearing and clawing at Anya’s coat and the scrap of wool she had wrapped around her mouth and nose. As the wind snatched up flurries in its claws and sent them hurtling around her face, Anya’s horse laid his ears back and balked.

With a roll of her eyes, Anya spurred her mount forward, but the horse snorted and scooted back, head high and ears flat. With a growl that rivaled the screeching of the wind, Anya put the reins in one hand and smacked the flat of her palm behind her leg, on her horse’s hide. Forward, walk on. Yet, the horse refused to budge, lashing a hind leg out in frustration.

Gritting her teeth, Anya ripped the scarf from her face so she could shout at the stubborn animal, but the words died in her throat when the flakes of snow the wind had tossed at them hit her tongue. Not snow, ash.

Anya knotted her reins and dismounted, shoving the scrap of wool back in her saddlebags while she retrieved her dual swords with the other. Helios, still with his ears pinned against his neck, tried to bite her as she passed. She dodged and leveled a glare at the gelding, who snorted in response.

As the wind continued to screech and tear through the trees, Anya braced herself against the force and crept forward, swords held at the ready. At the edge of the woods, the land dropped away, tumbling toward a shallow valley. Beyond the valley, the ground rose into a steep ridge, the barren outcropping a literal raised line that marked the border with Azgeda.

What fools would decide to settle so close to Azgeda territory and on low ground as well? No wonder their hovels had been sacked and burned, the people living within them were blind to any raiders coming at them from the North. Like the sure footed sheep that the distant Boudalankru hunted, Anya picked her way down the slope to the valley, eyes roving across the open plain and ridge beyond.

Not only had the Azgeda gutted and razed the shacks, but the raiders had cut down their occupants and put them to the torch as well. Pieces of charred leather and cloth snapped in the howling wind, stuck beneath soot stained bones. Anya counted six bodies, one laying further from the remains of the shacks than the rest, all burned. One corpse’s ribcage, or what remained of it, was smashed, as if the person had been ridden down and trampled beneath a horse’s hooves.

The timbers of the hovels were cold to the touch and the tracks surrounding the burnt out shells were shallow, indistinct. The attack had to have occurred days ago, the relentless north wind tearing away at the tracks and sending the ash from the fires into the woods above the valley. Anya scanned the ground that led to the ridge, but found it devoid of marks, not even the hint of a boot print left.

Odd. Why cover your tracks when the only witnesses had been cut down and burned?

Anya approached the body that lay a few strides away from the others. The corpse was small, but intact, as if the fire had been extinguished before it could fully consume its victim. The corpse lay facedown, one hand beneath the body and the other outstretched above the head. It looked like the child had tried to run, then crawl, once the flames had become unbearable.

The child’s outstretched hand was reaching toward the north, the clawed and blackened fingers grasping for the ridge. Perhaps these people had not been Trikru, but Azgeda. It would explain the lack of tracks descending from the ridge and the child’s attempt to run toward it. With the tip of her boot, Anya flipped the child’s corpse over and crouched down to inspect what was left of the face.

While the child’s back had been blackened and charred, but the front of his body was mostly undamaged. The boy, who could not have been older than nine, had a design tattooed across the left side of his face, the pattern mostly circling his eye. A Trikru firstborn mark.

Scowling, Anya stood and backtracked to the southern edge of the hovels remains. Sure enough, a set of hoofmarks led into and out of the settlement, heading toward the southeast, where the heart of the Trikru territory lay. Anya glanced back at the body of the boy and then scanned the slope she had descended. A few yards from where she had climbed down, the slope leveled out a bit, making it more passable for a horse. The rider must have waited in the woods for darkness to fall, and then ridden down to the settlement, catching the boy and his family unaware.

With a sigh, Anya sheathed her swords and walked back to the body of the young boy, rummaging within her pocket for a piece of flint. She also grabbed the few pieces of half burnt wood that had once been shacks as she went. Quickly, with one eye on the ridge before her, Anya laid the pieces of wood down in a sad imitation of a pyre. She grasped the front of the boy’s thin jacket and set him upon the wood, which she promptly lit with the flint and the flat of her steel dagger. Once the sparks took, Anya muttered the traditional words and set off at a jog for the slop she had climbed down, quickly picking her way back up it.

The Trikru rarely fought amongst themselves, the threat of the Mountain diverting their attention elsewhere, but skirmishes between villages weren’t unheard of. The burnt settlers must have either fled or been driven out of a larger village; a village that had sent a warrior to finish whatever fight had begun within its walls. Knowing the ramshackle pyre would eventually draw attention with its rising smoke, Anya tied her sword sheaths hastily to her saddle. Just as she swung herself up into the tack, she turned Helios sharply, making the horse pivot on his hind foot. She urged him to a trot and set off the way she had come, itching for a hot meal and a chance to warm herself by the fire at the Ranger’s camp.

 

-

 

Halfway through the night, Anya was awoken by a soft whistle, the signal the Rangers on watch used to alert their sleeping companions. The sound was so quiet, it could barely be heard above the groaning of the bare tree branches above their heads, yet it had roused the Rangers and sent adrenaline coursing through Anya’s limbs. Just as she was taught, Anya remained still in her bedroll, eyes slitted open and one hand inching toward the sheathed swords by her side.

While she and the rest of the previously sleeping Rangers awaited the signal to attack, Anya strained her ears in an attempt to locate the threat. Whatever was waiting outside the light cast by the twin fires, it was silent. The Rangers on watch must have spotted the person, or animal, slinking in the shadows. They were too far from the Mountain for Reapers or the men in suits to be a concern, plus whatever was out there did not crash through the trees like the Mountain Men or their monstrous creations.

Perhaps a lone wolf had been drawn to camp by the horses. It was the dead of winter and while wolves were rare in Trikru territory, one could have easily traveled from Azgeda’s land to roam the northern edge of the forest. A tied horse would make easy prey for a starving beast, though Anya pitied the wolf who was dumb enough to test Helios; the horse had one hell of a kick.

The Rangers on watch called for the creature in the woods to show themselves, it was a person then, not a wolf, and the Rangers who had been lying ready in their bedrolls leapt to their feet. Bows twanged as arrows were knocked and the hiss of steel being drawn from leather scabbards blended with the crackling and popping of the wood in the fire. The person, most likely a horse thief, promptly turned tail and fled away from the camp, their breathing echoing through the woods like the Mountain Men’s gunshots.

A feral grin spread across Anya’s face and she spun the swords in her hands. Without waiting for the order, Anya dived to the right and sprinted after the thief, two more Rangers hot on her heels. Anya left her companions on the thief’s trail, choosing instead to track farther right, sprinting ahead in an attempt to cut the fleeing person off. Even with only a sliver of moon shining above her head, Anya was able to navigate the dark woods with ease, her feet as swift and sure footed as a deer.

She easily outstripped the thief and swung left, then halted, waiting for the fleeing person to come to her. Knees bent, shoulders low, wrists loose, Anya stood at the ready, dual swords held up and away from her torso. Ahead of her, Anya could hear her companions shouting taunts and making an effort to create a racket as they slipped through the trees. The baying hounds driving the prey toward the silent and ready hunter.

The thief burst from behind a large oak and Anya struck in a whirl of coat tails and gleaming steel. With the flat of her left blade, Anya swept the thief’s feet out, and once the person crashed to the ground, air rushing in a whoosh from their lungs, Anya leveled her right bald at the hollow of their throat. There was just enough moonlight for Anya to make out the wide eyes staring up at her, the weak beams highlighting the whites of the child’s eyes. Well, no wonder her first strike had met such little resistance, the girl was tiny and thin as a reed.

Scowling, Anya pulled her sword away from the girl’s throat and dropped her left arm, which had been raised in preparation for a strike. The child opened and closed her mouth several times, like a fish out of water, trying desperately to pull air into her lungs. Once she was able to wheeze in a breath, she scrambled away from Anya like a grotesque crab.

At some point the girl had caught up a rock and as she tried to put some distance between her and Anya, she hurled the stone at the Ranger. Though the darkness of the night lay heavy upon the forest, Anya could not only see the small projectile, but she could hear it cutting through the air. She barely had to shift her weight to avoid the stone, which was sad, considering the little girl was only a few feet away. Anya frowned and studied the girl more closely, the child must be very young, too young to have begun training, because even the youngest Sekon could at least strike a target from this distance.

The two Rangers who had accompanied Anya in the chase melted from the shadows, coming to stand silently behind the little girl. As the child stood and turned, preparing to race away from Anya, one of the Rangers caught her in the chest with his boot. The blow, while not delivered hard, sent the child sprawling into the dirt. She skidded across the few feet between the Rangers and Anya, fetching up at the feet of the latter. Anya toed the little girl’s thin shoulder, making her growl. She let the child scramble to her feet again before lazily lashing out with her blade, sweeping the little girl’s feet from beneath her, again.

One of the Rangers chortled, while the other frowned and gave Anya a disapproving look. With a sly smirk, Anya struck the flat of her right blade against the little girl’s arm, who had managed to scramble into a kneeling position. The child howled like a cat with a singed tail and tried to launch her skinny, undersized frame at Anya’s knees. Quick as a flash, Anya danced to the side and swept the flat of her left blade against the little girl’s feet, felling her for the third time.

“Em pleni.” The Ranger who had glared at her barked.

With a roll of her eyes, Anya stepped away from the child who was still sprawled out on her stomach in the dirt. As Anya moved toward the other two Rangers, the little girl rose to her feet and made a desperate grab at the back of Anya’s coat. The child was so small she barely cleared Anya’s hip, but the Ranger had to give it to the little girl, she had a fire within her too small chest. Without even glancing over her shoulder, Anya struck the little girl as she leapt in the temple with the hilt of a sword. The child crumpled, unconscious, and one of the other Rangers stepped forward to sling her across his shoulder, like an undersized deer that had been struck down during a hunt.

 

-

 

The Rangers back at the campsite had broken into a chorus of ruckus laughter when the Ranger carrying the child dropped her in between the two crackling fires. Some Rangers had clapped Anya on the back, applauding her tracking and hunting ability, while others demanded to know how she had ever managed to fell such a ferocious creature. Anya shoved her admirers away and made a rude gestures with her hands at the others, having since sheathed her swords upon returning to the campsite.

The lead Ranger threw Anya two lengths of rope and she quickly set about binding the little girl’s hands and feet. The child appeared to be wild, feral even, if her tangled bush of hair or the way she had poorly attempted to attack Anya, proved anything. The palms of her hands were also singed, bright red and bubbled over, badly burned. Her face and tattered clothes were streaked with soot and ash; she must have been a survivor of the burnt settlement Anya had stumbled across earlier. She informed the lead Ranger of her discovery and he informed the rest of the Rangers that they would question the little girl in the rapidly approaching morning.

As Anya laid down in her bedroll and drew the heavy fur blanket to her chin, she couldn’t help but glance at the prone little girl. Whoever the child’s dead companions had been, they had outfitted her poorly for winter this far north. The long sleeve tunic and breeches the child wore were threadbare and she lacked a pair of sturdy boots. The flimsy moccasins on the little girl’s feet, which were no bigger than Anya’s palm, were almost sole-less, they were so worn through. One of the Rangers had draped their thick saddle pad over the little girl, but Anya wouldn’t be surprised if come morning, when the Rangers gave the child water to wash her hands and face, that the tips of her fingers remained black from the cold.

 

-

 

The little girl had refused to speak to the Rangers. The group of warriors, while mostly full-blooded Trikru or half Trikru, traveled throughout the lands of the Twelve Clans, assisting villages in running off thieves, dangerous outcasts, bands of Unclean Bloods or pauna. Do to their travels and some of the Rangers’ parentage, every warrior in the band spoke some degree of each of the Twelve Clans’ dialects. The child had responded to none of the languages, even Gonasleng and Anya’s fluent Azgedian, had garnered no reaction.

One of the Ranger’s had tried to open the little girl’s mouth, to see if she had a tongue, but the child had promptly bit his fingers, which resulted in a sharp backhand to her face. The child’s eyes welled with tears and they cut sharp, silent tracks through the soot across the little girl’s face. Anya turned to the lead Ranger and suggested that maybe the child was too young and had not begun speaking yet. She certainly was small enough to pass for a three year old, though her ability to follow Anya from the burnt out settlement, through the woods, to the campsite, suggested she was older. However, Anya would bet her favorite dagger and Helios that the child was no older than five.

Another Ranger suggested the little girl was either mute or simply too traumatized, her wide, flat green eyes indicating severe shock. Whatever the cause for her silence, the Rangers had packed up their camp and set off for the nearest village, which lay half a days ride from their current location. The child had tried to make a run for it when they had cut the bonds around her ankles, so the little girl was currently slung over the back of Anya’s saddle like a prized kill. Since Anya had caught the feral child, the little girl was her burden to bear, at least until they dropped her off at the village.

 

-

 

About a two days ride from the small village where the Rangers had left the little girl, it became clear that someone was tracking the band of warriors through the woods. The thin crust of frozen snow upon the forest floor made tracking the Rangers’ horses so simple, a blind man could have followed them. The snow also made it clear that someone had snuck up to the campsite during the night, since a small set of footprints led from the pile of saddlebags into the woods. The two Rangers on watch that night had sworn they had not heard or seen anyone, but the tracks and depleted store of hardtack proved that someone had slipped in and out of camp.

While most of the Rangers were inclined to believe that the two men on watch had fallen asleep, it still did not account for how not one warrior had heard the thief approach. The lead Ranger sent Anya, who was the undisputed best tracker in the band, and an archer through the woods, to see if the thief could be found. The thief was smart. It was clear that the person had retraced their steps, making it harder to discern the size of the original footprint or if there was more than one thief roving the forest. Wolf packs traveled in the same manner.

Anya and the archer followed the tracks, which looped through the woods and then back onto the game trail the Rangers had traversed the previous day. It was clear that the thief, or thieves, were shadowing the wake of the Rangers, though Anya and the archer did not venture further down the game trail. It was already noon, the weak winter sun high above their heads, and the Rangers still had a lot of ground to cover before they reached Ouskejon Kru territory. Having to drop off the feral child at the village had set the Rangers behind schedule. So, Anya and the archer called off their hunt and trekked back the way they had come, toward their companions.

 

-

 

That night, the lead Ranger assigned two additional warriors to the first and second watch. Anya had drawn the short sword and was picked to be one of the extra set of eyes on second watch. Disgruntled, and none to happy about having to suffer because of the incompetence of her companions, Anya scowled. She sat with her back to the fire, swords balanced across her knees, eyes trained upon the dark and silent forest.

If a gust of bitter northern wind had not snapped a branch from a tree to her left, Anya would never have noticed the small shape slinking out from behind a tree, toward the horses and the saddlebags. The thief was small, almost too small, and Anya gaped in utter shock as the little girl from the burnt out settlement crept toward the campsite. How she had managed to slip from the village and keep up with the band of Rangers was beyond Anya. While their tracks were obvious, the distance they covered each day was great, surely too long a trek for a starving, undersized little girl.

The inky shape of the child paused. She was still too far away to be illuminated by the circle of light cast by the dual fires, but her tiny form cut an odd shadow in between the dark trunks of the trees. Anya was still so surprised she had yet to raise the alarm. She could feel the weight of the little girl’s stare upon her, as if the child were smothering Anya with a wet wool blanket. The shadow that was the little girl shifted, and a rock flew past Anya’s head, thrown too wide. Anya’s shout and the rock skittering across the ground roused the camp into action, and this time, Anya, unlike the cat with the mouse, did not play with her catch.

 

-

 

The Rangers were bemused, furious and though none of them, especially Anya, would ever admit it, slightly impressed that the little girl had managed to follow them and sneak into their camp. The child had once again been bound at the wrist and ankles, as well as gagged when she howled like a kicked dog the first time Anya tried to sling her across the back of her saddle. Unlike the Ranger who still had an impressive set of teeth marks across a few of his fingers, Anya had managed to avoid being bitten.

The closest village was only a days ride from their current location, so at least the Rangers, specifically Anya, would not have to bear the burden of the foolish, feral girl much longer. Why the child had left the safety of the village and the promise of a hot meal, was beyond even the lead Ranger’s knowledge.

 

-

 

The village Chief was given specific instructions to keep the little girl bound and locked in the meeting hall until the next day, at the very least. He was also warned that the child was a biter. The Ranger who bore the scars of the little girl’s teeth wryly suggested the Chief pen the child in with the dogs. The sky was a dull iron grey and the smell of snow was in the air. Even if, Anya mused, the little girl managed to slip away again, she could not possibly track the Rangers once the snow covered their trail.

 

-

 

In a past life, Anya must have greatly offended the gods. Maybe her past self had spit upon Heda, or massacred a village full of elders and children. Anya had sharp eyesight and while it had never failed her before, she seriously hoped that it was playing tricks upon her when she spotted the minuscule smudge far down the trail. She was riding at the back of the line of Rangers and unlike some of the more oblivious members of her band, she had the good sense to check over her shoulder occasionally to make sure no one was tracking them. Snow had just begun to fall and through the drifting flakes, the dark smudge continued to scurry down the trail.

As the little patience she possessed melted away like the snowflakes upon her cheeks, Anya informed the Ranger in front of her what she had discovered. The Ranger turned in his saddle, squinting, and then grinned at the snarl on her face and relayed her message up the line. A signal was given and the line of Rangers broke into a lope, quickly putting distance between themselves and the little girl that haunted Anya’s steps, like a wily, undersized shadow.

 

-

 

The snow continued to fall long into the night. Anya and the rest of the sleeping Rangers startled awake to the sound of a pack being thrown. They soon discovered that it was not a pack that had been whipped through the air and dropped to the ground, but the little girl. Somehow, someway, she had managed to follow the Rangers off the trail and into the woods, despite the snow filling in their horses’ tracks. After sneaking into camp on feet so silent they rivaled even a cat’s soundless step, the little girl had wandered over to the horses. The child had made the mistake of trying to untie and lead Helios away, but the horse hated being woken up early even more than Anya did.

How the little girl had snuck past the two Rangers on watch, one of them being the lead Ranger, was beyond comprehension. Though the child was very young and clearly untrained, she moved as quietly as a shadow. It was eerie and made Anya’s instincts whisper that something was not right.

The little girl had managed to untie Helios, but when she had tried to lead him away from the camp, the horse had jerked the rope the girl was clinging to and had sent her flying. Since the little girl was nothing more than skin and bones, she had stood no chance against the animal. The irritated horse stood a few feet from where the child had landed in the snow, ears pinned and foot stamping.

At her wits end, Anya advanced on the little girl, her swords flashing. The lead Ranger called out to Anya, informing her that she was not allowed to cut the failed horse thief and persistent shadow-girl down, and despite the fury coursing through her veins, Anya paused. When the child scrambled to her feet and chucked a rock at her, again - seriously, why rocks? - missing Anya by a wide berth, Anya’s strenuous hold on her anger snapped. She charged the little girl, a war cry ringing out.

The little girl tried to run, but Anya swiped her feet out from beneath her, sending her skidding through the snow. The child recovered more quickly than the first time Anya had tripped her days ago, and rose to face Anya’s swinging sword. While Anya was infuriated, and certainly not the most pleasant person even on her best days, she was not cruel enough to cut down a defenseless opponent, let alone an undersized child. She had intended to wallop the little girl with the flat of her blade, but the little girl threw out her hands and grasped the edge of Anya’s sword.

It was an utterly foolish mistake, for Anya’s swords were sharp enough to slice to the bone. The little girl yelped and released the sword, cradling her bleeding hands to her chest. Anya growled in frustration and stuck both her swords into the ground, the points driving through the frozen earth. She reached out for the child, whose hands would need to be dressed and bound lest she bleed out or contract an infection, but the little girl shrunk away from Anya. Tired of these games, Anya lunged for the child, but she was quick, and managed to slip away from Anya’s grasping hands.

Before Anya could try to grab her again, the child darted into the shadows of the trees and was gone. Completely exasperated, Anya picked up the stone the little girl had thrown at her and hurled it into the woods. The sound of the rock ricocheting harmlessly off the trunk of a tree drove to Anya spit out a string of curses so colorful, one of the Rangers whistled appreciatively.

It was not until Anya returned to her place by one of the twin fires that she saw the black blood upon her blades.

Black blood; the blood of the night, of the creatures who lived beyond this world. No wonder the child had moved so soundlessly, she was a being of darkness, formed in the Beyond and brought to Earth by the call of The Flame.

She wiped the blood away hastily, before any of the other Rangers saw, though none of them were even paying her any attention, too intent on crawling back into their bedrolls. As Anya went to retie Helios to the line, she turned the snow up where the nightblood had fallen. Hopefully the child had not left an obvious trail of black blood splatter behind her as she fled into the woods.

While Natblidas were rare and treasured commodities amongst the Twelve Clans, their families tended to hide them away. Clans and even villages within a Clan were known to battle each other in order to claim a Natblida child as their own. If the child managed to survive the Conclave and ascended to the throne of Heda, whoever had raised the child and brought them to the Fleimkepas in Polis gained the most powerful ally in this world and The Beyond. Throughout the course of history since Prime Faya, thousands of warriors had died in skirmishes over Natblidas.

As Anya crawled into her bedroll and willed sleep to come, a scenario played out in her mind. The little Natblida girl’s family must have fled their village, fearing their neighbors’ jealousy and the possibility of someone riding to Polis to alert the Fleimkepas. A new Heda had just recently ascended, so the Fleimkepas were seeking a new class of Natblida Novitiates. The little Natblida girl’s family most likely had feared she would not survive the trials of the Conclave, whenever they happened to once again occur. It was a fair assessment considering how small and dangerously thin the child was. Not to mention, the little Natblida girl’s aim was terrible.

Someone must have known the family was harboring a Natblida and ridden to their small settlement in search of the child. Considering how the little Natblida girl’s brother had died attempting to crawl to the ridge that marked Azgeda territory, the child must have fled over it when the attack occurred. Whoever had cut down and burned the child’s family had not been brave enough to risk the land of The North for their prize however.

While Anya should have informed the other Rangers exactly what kind of “shadow” had been trailing her since she stumbled across the burnt settlement, she remained silent. In this life, Anya had already managed to accidentally and indirectly attack a creature of The Beyond, so letting the little Natblida girl slip away was the least she could do to remedy the situation. If the Rangers knew that the child was a Natblida, they would surely hunt her down and bring her not to a village, but to Polis. Who was Anya to defy the wishes of a potential goddess?

 

-

 

Close to noon, the line of Rangers broke from the cover of the bare winter trees onto a well traveled road. They followed the avenue northwest, away from Polis, which lay many miles to the southeast. The Rangers quickly formed a wedge and either drew their swords, nocked their arrows or hefted their spears. Ambushes by thieves were common on the roads, and while no band of dishonorable outcasts were a real threat to a Trikru Ranger, it was better to be safe than sorry.

The gods had finally managed to cage the northern wind, and the day was blessedly devoid of snow or icy claws raking across their faces. As the band of Rangers rounded the bend in the road, Anya wished The Beyond would simply swallow her whole. A chorus of laughter broke out when the Rangers beheld Anya’s second shadow walking alongside the road ahead of them. The little Natblida girl glared at the band of Rangers and scooped up a loose stone. Anya snarled, but before the child could launch the rock at her, a rider emerged from the trees onto the road before them.

A Fleimkepa, easily recognized by the blood red cloak, reined in his monstrous black stallion. The beast was at least two hands taller than Helios, with a long arched neck and legs that ended in ebony feathers. Across the stallion’s chest, the Fleimkepa had painted the Holy Symbol in blood red ink, and a ram’s skull was affixed to the front of the stallion’s bridle. The skull contrasted starkly against the stallion’s coat and made the beast seem like a creature from The Beyond, the horns curling and extending from either side of the stallion’s head.

The little Natblida girl was only a few feet from the Fleimkepa, and rather than keep her cool, she hurled the rock meant for Anya at the priest. She missed of course, and the stone skipped harmlessly in the snow before the Fleimkepa’s horse. The stallion remained perfectly still, seeming less like a horse and more like a creature not natural to this world. The Fleimkepa lowered the cloak of his hood, baring his bald and tattooed head. Anya suppressed a shiver and many of the Rangers shifted in their saddles. The Fleimkepas were strange men and most people tried to avoid interacting with them.

The priest eyed the little Natblida girl, who remained frozen in place, and then looked to the stone near his horse’s front hooves. Anya saw the smudge of black blood in the snow after the priest launched his stallion forward. The child’s palms, sliced open on Anya’s blade the night before, were still bleeding.

As the Rangers reined their horses in and edged to the side of the road, the Fleimkepa leaned from his saddle and seized the back of the child’s tunic as she attempted to flee. While Anya and the Rangers knew the child was just as likely to bite as she was to throw rocks, the Fleimkepa was caught by surprise when the little Natblida girl grasped his arm, twisting her body so she could sink her teeth into his hand. The priest released her with a shout and the child sprinted toward Anya and Helios.

Ever opinionated, Helios pinned his ears and clacked his teeth, warning the child to stay away. Anya was about to voice the same warning when a terrified voice rang out, “Jus drein jus daun!”

When had Anya’s life become a cosmic joke?

The little Natblida girl was calling for repayment of the blood the Ranger had accidentally shed the night before. For some reason, Anya heeded the girl’s cry for help and drew her second sword, spurring Helios forward.

 

-

 

Years later, when the child asks her why she rode forward that day, Anya is unable to explain the pain and pull in her chest that drove her to respond.

 

-

 

The flame colored gelding leapt at his rapidly approaching cousin, and just as the girl flashed past her boot, Anya rolled from the saddle. Helios veered hard to the left once she was free of the tack, knowing what was about to occur. Anya landed in a crouch, just to the right of the Fleimkepa’s running horse. The weak winter sun gleamed off the polished steal of her dual blades as Anya slashed at the stallion’s front legs.

Her swords, ever sharp and true, hit their mark, slicing through horseflesh and cutting deep into solid bone. The stallion screamed, a sound that scraped against Anya’s ears and sent birds in the trees on either side of the road into the sky. Hot red blood sprayed her face as she jerked her swords loose and rolled to the right. In the same instance, the stallion crumpled, hind end flipping over its head, the Fleimkepa trapped beneath the hundreds of pounds of tumbling horseflesh.

Anya stood and whirled to face the Fleimkepa. The injured stallion must have snapped its neck in the fall, a small mercy, but the priest was still alive, his legs crushed beneath the bulk of his dead horse. He began to struggle, yelling obscenities in both Trigedasleng and Gonasleng. Anya stalked toward the priest with her swords at the ready, left blade slightly extended and crossed before the right. Fleimkepas were deadly warriors, and while Anya was foolish enough to cut one down, she was not foolish enough to believe the priest was not so easily bested.

The Rangers looked on silently. What Anya had done was a great crime, but not heeding the cry of a Natblida was a crime as well. Helios stood beyond the felled horse, long ears pricked forward, awaiting her whistle.

The child approached the prone Fleimkepa cautiously, a rock clenched in one of her still bleeding hands. Again, with the rocks; why?

The priest had somehow managed to wriggle himself free, though it appeared one of his legs was broken, because he made an awkward attempt to lunge for the little Natblida girl. The child shrieked and chucked the stone at the priest’s face. For once, her aim was true and rock cracked against bone. Blood poured from the Fleimkepa’s broken nose as his shouting turned more into a gurgling. The child raced behind her as Anya stopped before the priest who was struggling to rise to his feet.

“Em pleni,” the Fleimkepa bit out, “give me the Natblida you bitch!”

Anya narrowed her eyes at the priest. While she never glanced away from the Fleimkepa, her words were for the child cowering in her shadow. “Yumi na teik won sonraun au?”

“Oso kik raun.” The corner of Anya’s mouth twitched upward when the voice spoke up behind her. It seems that her shadow is not a mute. “Ogeda, soulou. Ai laik yu gona.”

The Fleimkepa hissed. “Even if you complete the binding ritual,” he gestured to the child hiding behind Anya’s coattails, “it will not save the child from her destiny. She is a Natblida, her nightblood calls out to The Flame and The Spirit cries out for her blood.”

Anya ignored him and spoke the next lines of the binding ritual. “Yumi na teik won sonraun au?”

The child’s voice rose in volume with each declaration. “Ai nou fir raun. Ai mana jomp in. Ai mana wan op.” She stepped out from Anya’s shadow and stood next to the Ranger, one skinny arm and slowly dripping hand pointed at the Fleimkepa. “Ai don sin y'in.”

The look Anya leveled at the Fleimkepa could only be described as feral. She lunged forward, blades flashing in the weak winter sunlight. The priest tried to land a blow or twist a hand in Anya’s coat, but she was too quick, her swords too fast. In the seconds it took Anya to move behind the Fleimkepa’s back, he had lost a hand and had the muscles in the other arm severed. Once behind the priest, Anya sliced the achilles tendon on his good leg, making the Fleimkepa pitch forward. She transferred her right sword to her left hand, the arm of which was wrapped across the Fleimkepa’s chest, keeping him upright on his broken and intact knee.

Both swords rested against the side of the Fleimkepa’s neck, over the pulse point in his throat. With her right hand Anya removed the wooden hilted dagger from her belt and extended it hilt first toward the little Natblida girl. The child approached cautiously and gently took the blade from her hand. Anya pointed to her chest with her know free hand, indicating where the blade should be stabbed.

The child never hesitated, even though she probably would have preferred to dispatch the priest with a rock. “Jus drein jus daun,” she whispered, as the blade sunk into the Fleimkepa’s heart.

Though the priest had been casting truly terrible curses on her, the child and the Trikru as a whole, Anya still declared his fight was over when she let him sag forward and to the side. The child removed Anya’s dagger from the Fleimkepa’s chest and made to hand it back, but Anya waved her off. The dagger was now hers, as it was traditional for a warrior to arm their Sekons with a weapon.

Anya turned toward the silent Rangers, eyebrow arched in question, swords sweeping up from the ground to be held at the ready. Some of the Rangers were gawking at her, while others were trying to keep the grins from taking over their faces. She watched a small throwing knife change hands, someone had bet on her to win the fight with the Fleimkepa and was now claiming his reward. The lead Ranger scowled at her, then turned in his saddle to regard the rest of his band. The unspoken questions hung in the air, balanced on the tips and razor sharp edges of her swords.

Would the Rangers accept the little Natblida girl as her Sekon? Would they allow her to travel alongside Anya, rather than insisting that the Ranger bring her to Polis to join the group of Natblida Novitiates? Would they accept the child as one of their own, and defend her as such?

The lead Ranger turned back to Anya and sighed. “Well, what is the yongon’s name?”

“A laik Heda!” The little Nightblood girl brandished the dagger Anya had given to her. “No ai yongon.”

The Rangers broke into laughter, even the lead Ranger looked amused. Anya whistled for Helios who dutifully trotted to her. She sheathed her swords and swung up into the saddle. The child blinked up at her, bright green eyes narrowed, analyzing. Anya smirked and leaned down, extending a hand. When the little Natblida girl grasped her forearm with a sticky, black palm, Anya hauled her up. Her bones must have been hollow, like a birds, it was the only way to explain why she was so light. Once the child had settled in the saddle before her, a head topped in a wild main of hair tipped back against Anya’s chest. A heavy green gaze stared up at her.

It was such a comical arrangement that Anya couldn’t help the smirk that settled upon her lips. “A laik Onya kom Trikru,” the smirk became a sharp grin, “Heda.”

What was a casual decree of blasphemy when she had already cut down a Fleimkepa? To call the child “Heda,” when she did not possess The Flame was not only blasphemous, but treason. Helios stepped forward into a walk and slipped himself into the line the Rangers were forming in order to cut through the woods. Best to put some distance between them and the destruction Anya had caused with her swords.

Green eyes stared, and stared. Finally, the child tipped her head back down and fixated her stare on the dagger she was still clutching in a weakly bleeding hand. It looked like the deep cuts to her palms had begun to scab over, but the little Natblida girl kept reopening the wounds. Anya tugged her lightly trembling form firmly against her chest. She was ice cold, the threadbare tunic providing almost no protection against the winter chill. With the reins in her left hand, Anya pulled the lapel of her coat around the child’s shoulder, and then pulled the left lapel forward as well. She secured the coat closed as best she could by wrapping her right arm around the trembling form in front of her, holding the child close and secure.

The little Natblida girl was so small, the crown of her head did not even meet Anya’s chin. She reeked of smoke and the charred stench of burnt flesh. Her hair was so tangled that Anya feared she would not be able to work the twigs and dead grass free, let alone braid it.

“A laik,” the child cleared her throat, voice thick with emotion, “a laik Leksa kom Trikru.”

Anya hummed and Lexa’s tiny body sagged against hers.

“Sha, Heda.” Anya whispered.

Helios’ swinging gait quickly put Anya’s too small and too thin Sekon to sleep. The north wind soon began to howl and claw at the Rangers, bare branches groaning above their heads. Anya turned her body in the saddle, attempting to shield a fitfully dozing Commander.


	2. Update!

I apologize for the lack of a chapter in this update, but I have decided to rework the original outline for this story and so many things are going to be changing. 

First, thank you for the great feedback, comments, kudos and bookmarks for the first chapter, I greatly appreciate all of it! Anya and Lexa's relationship has always fascinated me, but I never intended to dive into the possibilities of it. Originally, the first chapter was supposed to be the only "flashback" or exploration of what Anya and Lexa had been like before Lexa ascended. As with all well made plans, this quickly went to hell and I dived into the possibilities of Anya and Lexa's Sekon/Fos bond and the shenanigans they got up to. Not only that, but I began to wonder more about Anya and what her story was. I tried to work these chapters into what I had planned out for TWOTW, but they did not mesh well. While the majority of my musings on Anya and Lexa will be compiled into another story, my trip down the rabbit hole has led me to re-think my original outline for TWOTW.

Also, I stumbled across the clexafanficawards on tumblr and realized that there was another, very popular and well written Clexa fic, by the name of The Writing On The Wall. While my Writing On The Wall is in no way similar to the other story, I wish to change the title to avoid confusion and with the new direction this story will be taking, a change in title is almost necessary. 

So, long story short, thank you for your support and enthusiasm over this story, and please stand by for a bit of a face-lift. I intend to edit this document as opposed to orphaning it, so if you have bookmarked it already no need to worry. 

Unfortunately, I do not have a definitive timeline for when I will be posting the new material, as I have recently begun a new job and find myself with very limited writing/editing time. I will most likely have the new first chapter up within a few months, so please check back in every now and then!

As for the Anya and Lexa prequel story, that will not be up until this one has finished. Sorry, everyone!

Thank you, and once again, I apologize for this mess that TWOTW has become. In the meantime, if you have any questions or want to read some snippets or cuts that did not make it through the final editing process, you can find me on tumblr at Thorntangle.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, what do you think? Worth continuing?


End file.
